


Happy to Help

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Light angst if you tilt your head and squint, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21534454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: “I can’t drink scotch,” Carisi protested weakly, watching as Barba headed into the kitchen. “I’ve got an arraignment tomorrow!”“You can and you will,” Barba said, returning from the kitchen with two glasses and a very nice bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue that Rita Calhoun had given him for Christmas the past year. “Now sit.” Carisi sat, obediently, and Barba poured them both a generous two fingers, handing one to Carisi before sitting down next to him on the couch. “And now, tell me what you’re freaking out about.”Carisi took a sip of whisky and made a face. “M’not freaking out,” he muttered, and when Barba just gave him a look, he sighed. “Ok, fine, maybe a little.” He tossed back his glass of scotch like it was a shot and held it out to Barba for a refill.Barba thought he honestly deserved a medal for choosing not to comment on Carisi drinking $150 scotch like it was well tequila.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 187





	Happy to Help

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ships_to_sail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/gifts).



> For my darling Chelsea. Happy birthday my love!
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

A sudden noise jolted Barba from sleep, and on reflex alone, he rolled over and fumbled for his cellphone, raising it to his ear automatically. “Barba,” he said, his voice thick with sleep.

The noise sounded again and Barba blinked before looking at his phone, which was silent. He looked at the time, just after two in the morning, and groaned, tossing his phone on his bed. “Jesus,” he huffed, rubbing a hand over his face.

It took the third iteration of the loud buzz for Barba to place what it actually was — the buzzer for his door, and he groaned again, raking his hand through his hair before getting up with a wince and shuffling to the intercom, jabbing the button with more force than was even remotely necessary. “What?” he snapped.

There was a pause before the person on the other end said, with an unmistakable Staten Island, “Oh shit, were you asleep?”

Barba blinked. “Carisi?” he asked, somewhat incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s nothing,” Carisi said instantly, and Barba sighed, because clearly it wasn’t nothing or Carisi wouldn’t be here at ass o’clock in the morning. “Seriously, I’m sorry, I never should’ve come over, I shouldn’t’ve—”

“Just shut up and get up here,” Barba said through a yawn, buzzing Carisi in.

In the few minutes it took for Carisi to get up to his door, Barba tried in vain to get his hair to lie flat, and debated putting on something other than the plaid pajama pants and white undershirt he wore, but he decided against it. Carisi could hardly be surprised that he was dressed for bed, after all, given the hour.

The fact that the undershirt was just a little on the tight side in all the right places didn’t hurt matters either.

Carisi knocked tentatively on his door and Barba shuffled over to let him in, blinking up at him. Carisi had clearly not been home, dressed in his work clothes still, but his hair was unusually unkempt, strands curling across his forehead where they had fallen loose from his usual coif. “Hi,” Barba said.

“Hey,” Carisi said, sounding tired. “You moved.”

He said it in an almost accusatory way, and Barba realized that the last time Carisi had been at his place, back during the death threats he made it a point not to think about too much, he had been living on the Upper East Side, rather than the South Bronx where they both stood.

He took a step back and gestured for Carisi to come in. “Well, relative proximity to One Hogan Place was no longer a concern of mine,” he said mildly, “and besides, my grandmother’s apartment had been sitting empty for long enough, so I figured someone ought to use it.” He held his hand out for Carisi’s coat, arching an eyebrow as he did. “Dare I ask how you found my new address, since last I heard you no longer had access to NYPD databases?”

“I had Amanda look you up,” Carisi said, completely unabashed by the admission, perching awkwardly on the arm of Barba’s couch as Barba hung his coat on a hook. “Did you know you have four outstanding parking tickets, by the way? I didn’t even know you knew how to drive, let alone owned a car.” Barba blinked and opened his mouth to respond but Carisi beat him to it, his brow furrowing. “Hang on, how’d you know I wasn’t working for NYPD anymore?”

“I do still have friends in the DA’s office,” Barba said, amused. “Did you think no one would tell me?”

Carisi rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost embarrassed. “Honestly, I sorta hoped they wouldn’t,” he admitted. “I got enough pressure riding on this career change without, y’know, worrying what you thought about it.”

Something warm that Barba refused to give name to flared in his chest and he took a moment to respond. “Which is why you waited to tell me until the night before your first arraignment by showing up on my doorstep at 2 in the morning.”

He didn’t state it like a question and Carisi flushed. “You know about that too?” he asked, somewhat sheepishly, before shaking his head. “Of course you do,” he muttered, his flush deepening. “You know everything, with your Harvard degree and your decades of experience and your—”

Barba grabbed him by the arm, stopping him before he could work himself into some kind of panic. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing at the couch. “Breathe. I’m getting the scotch.”

“I can’t drink scotch,” Carisi protested weakly, watching as Barba headed into the kitchen. “I’ve got an arraignment tomorrow!”

“You can and you will,” Barba said, returning from the kitchen with two glasses and a very nice bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue that Rita Calhoun had given him for Christmas the past year. “Now sit.” Carisi sat, obediently, and Barba poured them both a generous two fingers, handing one to Carisi before sitting down next to him on the couch. “And now, tell me what you’re freaking out about.”

Carisi took a sip of whisky and made a face. “M’not freaking out,” he muttered, and when Barba just gave him a look, he sighed. “Ok, fine, maybe a little.” He tossed back his glass of scotch like it was a shot and held it out to Barba for a refill.

Barba thought he honestly deserved a medal for choosing not to comment on Carisi drinking $150 scotch like it was well tequila.

“I just — I thought I was ready for it, y’know?” Carisi said, sounding only slightly calmer than before. “But now — what if I mess it up?”

He sounded almost terrified at the thought and Barba took a large sip of his own whisky before answering. “Then the perp walks free and the entirety of the Manhattan DA’s office and NYPD will hate you,” he said calmly, and Carisi choked on the sip of scotch he had just taken, his eyes wide. “No, of course not,” Barba continued, with just a hint of impatience, and Carisi breathed a sigh of what sounded to Barba like relief. “That’s why there’s a judge there, to make sure that things don’t fall apart entirely.”

He took another sip of scotch, watching as Carisi fiddled nervously with his glass. Evidently, this little pep talk hadn’t quite done the trick, and Barba sat up straighter and leaned in toward Carisi. “Look,” he said, and Carisi glanced over at him. “All you have to do is present the facts of the case, ok? So come on, walk me through it.”

Carisi looked startled. “What? No, you don’t have to—”

“Burning daylight, Counselor,” Barba said calmly, before making a face. “Metaphorically speaking, anyway.”

Carisi glared at him but still took a deep breath. “Ok, fine. So the judge will read the charges, ask the defendant how he pleas, and then—”

“State on bail?” Barba asked, taking on the bored affect of 98% of arraignment judges.

It worked. Carisi sat up straighter as well, his expression evening out. “Your Honor, the State requests remand,” he said firmly. “The defendant has both the means and the motive to flee.”

Barba smirked, just slightly. “Your Honor,” he said, changing his tone to that of the oiliest, worst defense attorney he could think of — in other words, John Buchanan. “My client is an upstanding member of his community and this is his first time being charged—”

“First time being charged, but not the first time being accused,” Carisi interrupted, with an almost calm anger in the way he delivered the words. “Your Honor, the defendant has faced similar allegations in multiple countries and has shown no willingness to change his behavior.”

Barba couldn’t quite stop himself — he grinned. “Very good,” he said, and Carisi blinked as if taken aback by the praise. “You might want to lean into the severity of the charges as well, but that can be a fine line for an arraignment. It’s a delicate balance, figuring out how far to go.” He raised his glass of scotch in a toast. “You’re ready.”

Carisi exhaled sharply, his shoulder slumping in relief. “Thanks, Barba,” he said, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Sorry for, y’know, showing up here like this—”

“Don’t apologize,” Barba told him, and when Carisi just made a face, he added, “Seriously. After all the late nights you spent helping me, it’s the least I can do. Anytime you need help, you know I’m here for you.” He paused. “Though I’d prefer if I had at least a slight head’s up before you show up at my place at two o’clock in the morning.”

Carisi chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do.” He stood and Barba followed suit, trailing after to to the door to let him out. To his surprise, Carisi stopped just before the door and turned to pull him into a hug. “Thanks,” he said, his voice muffled slightly against Barba’s hair. “I mean it.”

“You’ve got this,” Barba assured him, patting his back a little tentatively.

“Of course I do,” Carisi told him as he let him go. “I had a great teacher.”

“You bet your ass you did,” Barba said with a smirk, holding the door open for him. “You’ll let me know how it goes?”

Carisi grinned. “Of course.” He backed away slowly, his grin softening. “Night, Counselor.”

“Goodnight, Sonny.” Carisi gave him a wave and Barba closed the door, leaning against it for a moment before shaking his head and making his way back to bed, fighting a yawn as he did. Having talked Carisi off the ledge, he was fairly certain that the former detective would manage on his own with little further help from him.

* * *

He assumed his suspicions were correct when he got a brief text from Carisi the following morning: _You were right. Arraignment went off without a hitch._

 _I’m always right,_ Barba returned. _Isn’t it past time you learned that?_

 _Yeah, sure, Counselor,_ Carisi sent back. _Thanks again for everything!_

But just when Barba assumed that Caris wouldn’t need his help beyond that one night, he got another late night text from Carisi, asking if he could come over to discuss a case. Not even a week later, Carisi wanted to meet for drinks to talk about the finer points of voir dire. And only two days after that, he texted Barba two simple words that required no further explanation: _FUCK BUCHANAN._

 _Drinks, my treat,_ Barba sent back, understanding Carisi’s mood far too well and knowing it’s what he would’ve needed, when their positions were somewhat reversed.

And from there, it became a pattern.

Whenever Carisi needed help with something, or when he needed to vent, he texted or called Barba. And on occasion, he showed up at Barba’s apartment, normally bringing takeout and usually with at least a half hour’s warning.

It was, in some bizarre way, a fitting evolution for their previous friendship — where once Carisi would come around to Barba’s office looking for something to do or some way to help, now he came around hoping for Barba’s help.

And for his part, Barba was only too glad.

He had missed this — less so poring over casefiles and digging up precedent, though he had to admit, he had missed that, too, but more so spending his evenings with Carisi. He had forgotten — or maybe had never fully appreciated — how good of company Carisi was, how quickly time passed while they were bickering about the finer points of a particularly obscure piece of case law or commiserating after an arraignment had gone particularly poorly.

Barba would rarely consider himself nostalgic but there was something so familiar in these moments, in this time he spent with Carisi, something familiar and warm that took him back to his best days, so perhaps it wasn’t entirely surprising that once he found it again, he didn’t want it to end.

So he kept going back, meeting up with Carisi at One Hogan Place or Forlini’s or wherever, spending his evenings consulting in a way he could charge several hundred dollars an hour for in the private sector. Not that he would ever even consider charging Carisi, and not just because the man couldn’t afford him. 

Mostly because Barba was pretty sure that Carisi’s dopey smile was payment enough.

But like all good things in Barba’s life, he should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

It started small. Carisi would text him to meet at Forlini’s and then follow up the text not even ten minutes later with a _nvm got pulled in a meeting sorry,_ or _SVU caught a case. Raincheck?_ And since Barba had been pulled into meetings or brought in on cases at the worst possible time more frequently than he cared to think about, he certainly couldn’t hold it against him.

He also couldn’t help but notice, though, that Carisi didn’t seem to actually need to make up the time. The cases he was working on or the questions he had assumedly didn’t evaporate just because he got pulled into a meeting, but his apparent need for Barba’s help did, since he didn’t reschedule their meetings that were ostensibly to answer those questions or help with those cases.

Not that Barba was bitter about that, or anything.

In fact, he tried not to let it bother him at all.

Tried being the operative word.

One day, a solid forty-five minutes after they were scheduled to get coffee, Barba scowled down at his phone, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach that told him he’d been stood up. Not that one can be stood up for a friendly meeting that was not even remotely a date or anything, but that was hardly the point.

He sighed and shoved his phone back in his pocket and lifted his cup to drain his coffee and throw out the coffee he’d bought for Carisi when the door opened and Carisi strode in, looking tired and a little disheveled. “Hey,” he said, making his way over to Barba. “Sorry I’m late—”

“Not a problem—” Barba started, but Carisi continued as if he hadn’t said anything.

“—But I can’t stay. I gotta grab coffee and head back to One Hogan Place. Hadid’s letting me take the lead on voir dire!” He caught sight of the coffee on the table and brightened. “Is this for me?” Barba nodded and Carisi grabbed it. “Wish me luck!” he called over his shoulder before leaving as abruptly as he came, without even a word of thanks.

Barba felt stung. Here he’d spent forty-five minutes waiting around for a man who just showed up and left, and when had Barba ever waited around for a man?

Of course, he reasoned as he walked home, his hands shoved in his coat pockets, this wasn’t just a man.

This was Carisi.

And if he was being entirely honest with himself in a way he tried very hard not to be, he’d been waiting around for Carisi for almost six years now.

45 minutes more wouldn’t kill him, no matter how much it might feel like it in the moment.

His sourness over the whole affair was abated slightly when Carisi texted that evening. _Sorry for running out on you today_ , he sent, followed immediately by, _And I realized I didn’t even thank you for the coffee. My ma would skin me alive if she knew I had been so ungrateful, so consider this my belated thanks_.

 _No worries_ , Barba texted back, almost holding his breath as he waited for Carisi to either try and reschedule or end the conversation there.

Instead, Carisi did him one better: _Speaking of my ma, what do you say to Carisi family dinner on Sunday? I know what you’re gonna say, but it’s my way of saying thanks for all your help recently._

An involuntary smile twitched at the corners of Barba’s mouth. _I’m not certain an evening spent on Staten Island with your parents is the sign of gratitude you think it is_ , he replied. _Sounds far more akin to torture._

 _One bite of my ma’s manicotti, and I’ll bet you change your mind ;)_ , Carisi sent back.

Barba rolled his eyes. _Fine, you’re on_ , he sent back, and from there, the conversation turned to casework and the usual banality they texted back and forth.

But for the rest of the evening, Barba couldn’t quite stop his smile, and he fell asleep that night feeling happier about his returning friendship with Carisi than he had in weeks.

* * *

Barba felt something perilously close to nervous as he got out of his Uber in front of Carisi’s childhood home, a modest enough two-story house that looked just as warm and inviting as Barba had always imagined. Carisi had texted him the previous day to tell him he’d be going to his parents for Mass, and that Barba should meet him there around 5 or so, and so here Barba was, 5 o’clock on the dot, with a $30 bottle of wine because he was nothing if not a polite houseguest.

He took a deep breath before making his way to the door, hesitating for only a moment before knocking.

Almost instantly, an older woman who Barba could only assume was Carisi’s mom pulled the door open, beaming at him. “Oh, hello!” she said, her accent nearly as atrocious as her son’s.

Barba fumbled with the bottle of wine before quickly holding out his hand for her to shake. “Hi, I’m Rafael Barba—”

She ignored his outstretched hand, instead giving him a brief hug. “Oh, I know who you are,” she said with a chuckle. “Come in, come in, and forgive Dom for not joining us right away, he’s watching the end of the game.”

She ushered Barba inside, closing the door behind him, and Barba shifted awkwardly, half-hoping Carisi would appear and rescue him. “I assume Sonny told you he invited me…?”

“Of course,” she assured him, and Barba relaxed for a moment until she added, “Though I’m afraid Sonny isn’t here.”

Barba’s blood ran cold. “Didn’t he go to Mass with you this morning?” he asked weakly.

She shook her head. “No, he texted this morning to say he got caught in something at work. He promised he’d make it out before the Giants game kicked off, though.”

Barba’s stomach sank somewhere around his knees. “Didn’t the game start two hours ago?” he asked, his voice low, and when she just shrugged, he cleared his throat, straightening as he did. “Look, Mrs. Carisi, I appreciate you having me, but if Sonny’s not here, perhaps I should—”

“Call me Tessa,” she said firmly, “and don’t you dare try and leave. Sonny may not be here, but you still have to eat.”

“I really shouldn’t—” Barba tried to protest, even as she grabbed his arm, practically marching him into the living room. 

“That wasn’t a request, Rafael,” she said pleasantly, taking the bottle of wine from him. “Now please, make yourself comfortable, and I’ll open this, shall I?”

She disappeared into the kitchen before Barba could protest any further, and for lack of anything better to do, Barba sat down on the well-loved couch and stared at the dozens of pictures hung on the walls, wondering for a vague moment how exactly he’d gotten into this.

Luckily, he was saved from thinking too much about it by Tessa’s return, with two very full glasses of wine, and he gratefully accepted one of them from her. “So,” she said, settling down across from him with a far-too-familiar dimpled smile, “Sonny tells us you’ve been helping him a lot with his transition into his new role.”

Barba shrugged and took a sip of wine. “Well, I’ve been trying, anyway,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh before bitterness crept into his tone. “I’m afraid I haven’t done much for him lately.”

Tessa examined him closely for a moment and set her wine glass down on the coffee table. “This is probably not my place to say, and I know we only just met, but you seem sad about that.”

Barba stared down into his glass of wine, tempted to deflect, to laugh it off or scoff or whatever, but part of him also wanted to just finally say out loud what he’d been feeling for weeks now. And maybe it was because Tessa Carisi had dimples that matched her son’s or eyes that glinted the same color blue, but he sighed and admitted, “I feel like Sonny doesn’t really need my help anymore. And while I’m happy that he’s finding his feet and figuring this out for himself, I also know that once he realizes he no longer needs me, he’ll have no use for me.”

He knew he sounded miserable, and more than a little whiny, but his heart still clenched at the thought he’d been previously unable to voice out loud, and he took a gulp of wine, almost choking on it when Tessa laughed out loud. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand as Barba tried in vain to swallow his wine without spitting it out. “But you’re not serious.” She hesitated when she saw the look on Barba’s face. “Are you?”

“I just—” Barba paused, trying to figure how much exactly he should say to Carisi’s mother, of all people. “I know I’ve acted as Sonny’s mentor and, in recent weeks at least, a sounding board of sorts, but it’s not as if there’s much more than that…”

He trailed off as Tessa broke into a wide smile. “W. W. R. B. D.,” she said, pronouncing each letter separately, and Barba blinked at her.

“Excuse me?”

Tessa laughed again, but it seemed somewhat gentler this time. “What would Rafael Barba do. It’s the acronym Sonny’s sisters made up to tease him because he posed the question so many times whenever he tried to work through any problem he had.” She paused. “And of course, they’ve always loved to tease him whenever he has a crush on someone.”

Barba’s mouth went dry. “You mean—”

There was no trace of laughter in Tessa’s expression now. “You are far more than someone Sonny needs, Rafael,” she said seriously. “My son will never admit it because he’s a proud fool — takes after his father that way, idiots the both of them—” She raised her voice slightly as if trying to speak to Dom, who remained silent wherever he was watching the game at, and she shook her head before looking back at Barba. “Like I said, my son would never admit it, but he’s in love with you. He’s been in love with you for years.” Barba wanted to deny it, but she didn’t let him. “And what he needs — or at least what he wants — is to make you proud. Why do you think he’s breaking his back as an ADA? His biggest fear in taking the ADA job wasn’t just that he wouldn’t be good at it, it was that he would disappoint you.”

Barba’s eyes flashed. “He could never—” he started hotly, and Tessa held up a hand to stop him.

“I’m not the one who needs to hear it. He is.” She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “He needs you, Rafael, more than he’d ever admit. Just not as the ADA who he once shadowed. But as a partner. An equal.” She looked at him appraisingly. “The question is, do you still need Sonny the cop, always a step behind you, always asking what you would do, or do you need Sonny the ADA, who’s trying his best in spite of the insane schedule they’ve got him working?”

Barba couldn’t help himself — he smiled, a wide, slow grin, and Tessa smiled as well. “Good answer,” she told him before patting his knee and standing. “Now c’mon, I need help in the kitchen.”

This time, it didn’t even occur to Barba to argue with her.

* * *

To say Barba was not a morning person was the understatement of the decade, but when the following morning rolled around, Barba was awake and out the door before his usual alarm clock, stopping only to grab two coffees before heading over to Carisi’s.

He rang the buzzer a half-dozen times before Carisi’s voice crackled through the speaker, sounding half-asleep still. “‘Lo?”

“It’s me,” Barba said.

“Barba? What time—” Barba smiled almost involuntarily when Carisi let out what sounded almost like a whimper. “Oh, fuck,” he said before buzzing Barba up.

He met Barba at his door, dressed in what Barba had to assume was the same clothes he’d been wearing the day before, half of his hair sticking straight up and the other half matted from where he’d fallen asleep. “I am so, _so_ sorry, Raf,” he said. “I must’ve fallen asleep yesterday afternoon, and—”

“You clearly needed it,” Barba told him, handing him a coffee. “When was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”

Carisi waved a dismissive hand, leading the way into his apartment, which was small but relatively tidy, save for the casefiles spread across his coffee table. “I’ll catch up on my sleep after this trial is over.”

Barba looked at him carefully. “Keep that up and I predict you’ll be back with NYPD before Christmas.” He ignored the glare Carisi gave him, instead setting the baker’s box on the table. “I thought about bringing some of your mother’s leftovers, but I figured this was more appropriate for the time of day.”

Carisi’s entire face lit up when he saw the cannoli Barba had brought him from the bakery Tessa had assured Barba was Carisi’s favorite. “Honestly, I’ve had enough of my ma’s cooking for a lifetime,” Carisi said, helping himself to a cannolo and gesturing for Barba to take a seat on the couch next to him. “Just don’t tell her that.”

Barba laughed lightly. “My lips are sealed,” he promised, though he added, “Of course, I can’t promise I won’t let it slip the next time you stand me up.”

Carisi winced and ran a hand across his face. “I really am sorry,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for you to be stuck with my ma and pops, but—“

“Believe it or not, it wasn’t all bad,” Barba told him. “Your mother gave me some surprisingly good advice about the whole situation, and honestly, it’s thanks to her that I came over today. She told me you’d have a good explanation.”

Carisi sighed. “Well I don’t know about good, but…” He shook his head. “SVU caught this multijurisdictional nightmare of case yesterday morning, and between trying to coordinate with every involved entity and getting all the warrants and subpoenas lined up…” He trailed off. “Of course, I don’t have to explain to you. You, uh, you probably would’ve gotten this all sorted out and made it in time for dinner without falling asleep in the middle of the whole mess.”

“I would’ve sorted it out and made it in time for the Giants game,” Barba said calmly, watching as a dark look settled on Carisi’s face. “But that comes from the benefit of two decades of experience. You have to cut yourself a little slack, Sonny.”

Carisi made a face as if he didn’t quite believe him. “Well, maybe,” he said. “But in the meantime, I, uh, I appreciate all this, least of all you humoring my mother and whatever she might’ve told you. Especially since I know I haven’t exactly been the greatest friend the past few weeks.”

Barba shook his head. “That’s not true.” Carisi gave him a look and Barba laughed lightly. “Well, fine, it is true, but…” He trailed off, still not sure if now was the right time to say any of this.

But then again, if not now, then when was he ever going to do it?

“The truth is, I don’t need you to be a great friend. Or at least, I don’t want that.”

Carisi stared at him. “Well, since I’m pretty well on my way to being a shitty friend, uh, congrats on getting what you want, I guess?”

Barba rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t mean—” he started impatiently before breaking off and sighing, giving Carisi a baleful look. “Are you really going to make me spell this out for you?”

“Listen, I’m running on about three times as much sleep as I’ve gotten in the past week combined, so forgive for not exactly following the verbal gymnastics you’re trying to pull here, Counselor,” Carisi said waspishly.

Barba blinked. “Verbal gymnastics?” he repeated.

Carisi rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he said, but he was smiling, almost a little sheepishly. “I’ve never been quite as good with a quick insult as you.”

“Again, a skill learned with experience.”

“Well at this rate, you’re gonna give me plenty of time to practice,” Carisi said, making a show of looking at his watch. “Or are you gonna actually get to your point sometime in the next hour? I got an arraignment at 10.”

“My point,” Barba said, a little icily, “is that I want you to be more than a friend, great or otherwise.”

Carisi stared at him, his mouth hanging open, and it took him a few seconds to recover. “Oh,” he said faintly, before blinking and asking, slightly baffled, “But...why?”

Barba snorted. “Neither you nor I have the time to get to the bottom of that particular question, especially if you’ve got an arraignment this morning.”

He eyed Carisi a little warily, waiting for something other than shock to show in Carisi’s expression, some kind of sign that he hadn’t made a terrible mistake admitting what he had, and he was rewarded by the sight of dimples creasing Carisi’s cheeks as he slowly smiled. “Prosecution will stipulate,” he said, and Barba let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “But, uh, if you’ll permit me one question, why, uh, why now?”

“The bed head from you falling asleep on your couch just really did it for me,” Barba said dryly, smirking when Carisi’s eyes widened and he reached up in vain to try and make his hair lie flat.

“That’s not funny,” he told Barba, whose grin widened.

“No, it’s hilarious.”

Carisi glared at him. “That was a serious question, y’know.”

Barba sighed. “I know. And here’s my serious answer.” He hesitated for only a moment. “I know that you don’t need my help anymore, not like you used to.” Carisi frowned, but Barba didn’t let him interrupt. “You’re a good ADA, Sonny, and you’re well on your way to being a great one. So I know you don’t need me to help you anymore. Not with work, at least.” He glanced at Carisi. “But when it comes to the rest of it, I want to be there. I want to help in whatever way you’ll let me me.”

For a long moment, Carisi was silent. Then he shook his head slowly. “Did my ma tell you to say that?” he asked.

Barba half-smiled. “I plead the Fifth. Why?”

“Because it’s pretty much exactly what I’ve been hoping you’d say so that we can drop the whole pretense about meeting up to talk about work.”

Barba blinked and Carisi grinned at him. He couldn’t help but smile back, even if his own smile was slightly rueful. “I should’ve realized it was all a ruse,” he sighed.

“Probably,” Carisi agreed, still grinning. “Considering it’s a ruse I’ve been pulling on you for the last six years.”

Barba laughed and shook his head. “Well, I realized it now. And I mean it—” His tone turned serious, as serious as he could be, at least. “If you want me, if you want my help, I’m here for you.”

“Raf, I swear, there is nothing else in this world that I want,” Carisi told him, sincerity pitching his voice slightly deeper than normal. “I will always want you and your help. Even though my working hours are a nightmare and I’m never home and—” He gestured down at his rumpled clothes. “—I understand more than ever why you always had your dry cleaning sent to your office instead of your apartment.” He paused, a smile again stretching across his face. “So long as you want to be here, helping me, I’ll take it.”

“You’ll take it?” Barba teased, reveling in the moment, in the fact that he was sitting here, on Carisi’s couch, sharing all this with him. “In what way?

Carisi rolled his eyes before he paused, considering it. “In whatever way you’ll let me,” he said, echoing Barba’s words back to him, and Barba couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and kissing him.

For a moment, Carisi kissed him back, before abruptly pulling away, looking horrified. “Oh, uh, sorry, I just realized — morning breath.”

Barba rolled his eyes. “Shut up and get back here,” he ordered, and Carisi grinned before obeying.

When Carisi pulled back this time, it wasn’t to go far, resting his forehead against Barba’s as he traced his thumb lightly across Barba’s cheek. “Thank you for believing in me,” he murmured, and Barba smiled and kissed him once more.

“Always,” he promised.

Carisi kissed him one more time before reluctantly pulling away, looking down with something like dismay at the files scattered across his table before glancing back at Barba, already looking sheepish. “Hey, uh, remember how you had that whole revelation where I don’t need your help with work anymore?”

Barba could already see where this was going, and he chuckled as he grabbed a file and settled back against the couch to read it. “Spending time with you while dealing with the minutiae of warrant requests?” he said idly. “Sounds like a date to me.”

Carisi’s answering grin was blinding. “Yeah,” he said, grabbing a file of his own. “Our first date. What a way to spend it.”

"Not to be pedantic,” Barba said, ignoring Carisi’s scoff at that, “but if we’re counting this as a date, this is hardly our first date. More like our several hundredth date at this point.”

“Several hundredth,” Carisi murmured, still grinning. “I like the sound of that.” He nudged Barba gently. “And, uh, thanks for this. For helping.”

“Anytime,” Barba told him. “I’m always happy to help.” 

And he meant it.


End file.
